Yama: the pit eBook

“O-oh! You sheeny!” he began to roar.
“I ought to take a skunk like you and under
the train with you!”

But Horizon at once flew at him like a cock.

“What? Under the train? But do you
know what’s done for words like that? A
threat by action! Here, I’ll go right away
and will yell ‘help!’ and will turn the
signal handle,” and he seized the door-knob
with such an air of resolution that the conductor just
made a gesture of despair with his hand and spat.

“May you choke with my money, you mangy sheeny!”

Horizon called his wife out of the Coupe:

“Sarochka! Let’s go out on the platform
for a look; one can see better there. Well, it’s
so beautiful—­just like on a picture!”

Sarah obediently went after him, holding up with an
unskilled hand the new dress, in all probability put
on for the first time, bending out and as though afraid
of touching the door or the wall.

In the distance, in the rosy gala haze of the evening
glow, shone the golden cupolas and crosses. High
up on the hill the white, graceful churches seemed
to float in this flowery, magic mirage. Curly
woods and coppices had run down from above and had
pushed on over the very ravine. And the sheer,
white precipice which bathed its foot in the blue
river, was all furrowed over with occasional young
woods, just like green little veins and warts.
Beautiful as in a fairy tale, the ancient town appeared
as though it were itself coming to meet the train.

When the train stopped, Horizon ordered three porters
to carry the things into the first class, and told
his wife to follow him. But he himself lingered
at the exit in order to let through both his parties.
To the old woman looking after the dozen women he threw
briefly in passing:

“Don’t forget, Lazer, to feed the girls
at dinner and to bring them somewhere to a movie show.
About eleven o’clock at night wait for me.
I’ll come for a talk. But if some one will
be calling for me extra, then you know my address—­The
Hermitage. Ring me up. But if I’m
not there for some reason, then run into Reiman’s
cafe, or opposite, into the Hebrew dining room.
I’ll be eating GEFILTEH Fisch there.
Well, a lucky journey!”

CHAPTER III.

All the stories of Horizon about his commercial travelling
were simply brazen and glib lying. All the samples
of drapers’ goods, suspenders gloire and buttons
helios, the artificial teeth and insertible eyes,
served only as a shield, screening his real activity—­to
wit, the traffic in the body of woman. True, at
one time, some ten years ago, he had travelled over
Russia as the representative for the dubious wines
of some unknown firm; and this activity had imparted